Dead Flower
by Fauxhound
Summary: Meet Roderick, the new RED Soldier and a man with more secrets than you can count. At first glance, he seems like a very determined guy but is that really true? Marigold, tired of living in the shadow of her twin brother, takes over his life when he dies to fight in a war that he should have been in. But going into the war was not what she expected, she might just make things worse
1. Distant

**So, here is a new story. I know, I know... I should be working on my other stories. Bah, oh well. This chapter might be a little slow, but it is more than necessary.**

* * *

My whole life, someone has been in my way. I realized this fact when I was just a young girl. Of course, when I was a baby, I hadn't seen it, but it was still true even then. It was because of my twin brother. Roderick was always the family favorite; he was the one who had both my mother and my father's utmost attention. He was the one they saw as their future, the one who got the most toys and games and, overall, the most love. At first, I hadn't noticed it, but soon, my eyes had opened. Why did my brother get all of he attention, what made him so special? I did much more chores than he did, and at times, even more than my parents.

"Mother?" I said one day, pulling gently on my mother's limpid turquoise dress. "Do you love me?"

My mother actually seemed surprised at this question. Her shock at my inquiry made me feel a little better; at least I knew that she didn't only love my brother. A faint smile tugged at my lips, but I knew I was not done asking yet. I could not get my hopes up.

"Of course, Marigold," she said, giving me a worried look. Her light brown eyes scanned my face. "Why would you ask something like that?"

"Do you love Roderick more?" I pressed. My heart was pounding at that moment, I was anticipating her answer.

"Of course not," she told me, the worried look in her light brown eyes not fading in the slightest. She ran a hand through my brunette hair.

That time, I allowed a smile to show on my face. Maybe my suspicions were wrong, maybe she did truly love me and my brother the same. Oh, how foolish I had been at that age. I could have never been more wrong. The rest of that day, my mother treated us as equals. If she made me do something, she would have my brother assist me or do something else on his own. It made me happy. I was not any less than my brother, I'd thought. I thought we truly _were_ equals. But we were not, and no matter how much my mother pretended we were, things would never change. Her special treatment hardly lasted the day.

After I had asked my mother the question, I walked into the living room to my father, who was resting on the sofa, feet kicked up on the table and hand toying with his messy black hair. I approached the sofa, the smile on my face fading away. With my father, it was much clearer that he liked my brother more. He was strong, he was fast, and he was masculine. He was very athletic for his age and he was a very determined boy. For them, there was nothing not to love, and it was easy to see that in my fathers muddy brown eyes.

"Father?"

He looked at me, tearing his eyes away from the boring show on the TV. "What?"

"Do you love me?" I asked.

He blinked. "What are you asking a stupid question like that for?" He asked, curling up his lip in what seemed like disgust.

"Well, you just seem to-"

"Are you done cleaning the kitchen?" He interrupted, turning his attention back to the television. "Because if it's dirty when I get in there, you won't be happy."

I bit my lip and turned away to go back to clean. My father never did much cleaning around the house, he did other work. Not much of that either, though. I was not worried about cleaning the dishes at that time, though. I was thinking about the fact that my father did not even answer my question. Of course, his reaction implied that he did love me, but how much? He would never have reacted to Roderick that way. No, he would never snap at his beloved son, the one that would fulfill is dream for him.

My father always wanted to be a war hero. The problem was, he was not athletic and he was not brave enough. He could not go into war like my brother could. He made sure that my brother would think that being in war and becoming a hero there was the greatest honor he could ever have. It was the thing that would make my father happiest. He said I could never do that, he said I would never be the man my brother would be. That hurt. A lot.

My brother would only prove to be the family favorite more and more, my parents would show me more than enough times themselves. Eventually, I became jealous. So very, very jealous. What made my brother so special, anyway? Why couldn't I do what he did? It became a goal of mine to show them I was just as good as my brother was, if not better. So I began to watch. I watched him everywhere I could, making sure to see what was so great about him. He never really noticed much, but when he did, he would snap at me. I ignored him. I just continued to watch. When I had seen what my father liked in him, I would copy him. Then I would progress into something greater. That was the plan I had come up with at a young age. Eventually, he began training for war. He trained in close combat, he trained with weapons, and he would run miles upon miles and work out for hours. It was his dream to fulfill my father's dream.

It was _my_ dream to show that I was worth something. That dream took over my life. I would watch my brother train, I would listen to every word and then I would practice in private. I would slip away the weapons and practice with them. Soon, I grew used to the feeling of a loaded weapon in my hands, my fingers against the trigger, eyes showing the determination I had inside. My father never saw this determination. I would not dare show him what I'd learned. Not yet.

One day, my brother and I got into an argument. It was unneeded and stupid, a petty argument that evolved into a petty fight. Roderick put his hands on me and I fought back. My pride swelled inside of me when I beat him. I had broken his nose and I gave him a black eye. I was not proud of myself because I had beaten up the person who had stolen my parents from me; I was proud because I had beaten my oh-so-amazing brother in a fistfight. My training was worth it. Of course, I was punished severely for that, but I did not let it get in the way of my watching.

As I watched, my hatred was born. It was the time when my eyes were always on my brother when my hatred first formed. He took my parents; he was the thief who had stolen them from me. He was the one they loved more. And I hated it. I was obsessed, I admit that. It was never a secret. I knew what I had become. I had become obsessive. I did nothing but watch and mimic to the point where I could beat him up and even mimic his voice. I decided that I would be just like him, and then I would add on greater qualities. I would become better. Then my parents would see.

Or so I had thought. A few years later, my mother became sick. We never figured out what it was, but it just got worse everyday. Soon, my mother passed away. I was overcome with grief. My mother had passed away, how could I not have been? Everyone was taking it hard, but nobody took it worse than my father. He began to drink, intoxicating himself much too often. He blamed me for my mother's death, he said I never fully cleaned anything and my mother got sick because of that. He would yell at me, never my brother. He would hit me sometimes, but I grew used to it very fast. It didn't hurt by the end of the month. When he struck me, it would never hurt nearly as much as his words did. He would tell me I killed her. Sometimes he even said I did it on purpose. Most of the time he would just yell at me about why I couldn't be as good as my twin sibling. Even though my father did this, I forgave him. I wanted to prove to him I was a good person, that I was better than my brother.

My brother trained harder after my mother's passing. I didn't stop watching and mimicking, soon I was just as great as he was at his early war training, if not better. My father still did not know of it. Not yet. But as I watched Roderick, I began to notice something. He was getting sick, just like my mother had. But I knew that he did not want to tell my father, he feared that my father would just get worse. He never said it aloud to anyone, but I could tell by his symptoms and reactions. I had watched him to the point where I could tell how he felt and thought most of the time. I had let my obsession take over my life long ago. My brother was right to have feared my father's reaction; both of us were positive that he would kill himself with his drinking if my brother told him he was sick. So instead of telling my father, my brother took out his fear and frustration on training.

Just like my mother, my brother passed away. He was much younger, though, he passed when we were fifteen. The fact that he overworked himself just brought about his death faster. Even though I detested my brother, I was not sick enough to watch him die. The day I knew it would end, I did not watch him. I came outside to find his body. I knew he had died not long before I found him, but his body was already cold. I was sad he was gone, but at the same time, I was excited. I was also fearful. Now that my brother was gone, I had to come up with a new plan, and fast. I knew my father would never come outside, so I buried him in the backyard. I devised a new plan while digging his grave, and a pretty good one at that. I swapped our clothes. I slipped on his shirt and pants and put him into mine, and then I buried him.

I had to sneak inside past my father, but it wasn't hard. I went up into my room and I took scissors to cut down my hair. I did my best to mimic his haircut and then I did my best to mimic any cuts or bruises he had. I admired my work in the mirror, glad that we had very similar eye colors. I was never very feminine in the first place— I was not very curvy and I was nearly flat as a board. I was about five-six at that age, and I would only grow another inch before I was done growing. Luckily for me, I was only an inch or two shorter than my brother. Our faces were very similar with the exception of our eyes. I had thick, long eyelashes and they were very dark. Very feminine. My brother's were quite the opposite. I just hoped my father would not notice. My brother's clothes were baggy enough to hide my shape, so I figured I was ready. I went to my father and announced "Marigold" dead.

My father took it harder than I expected. He drank a lot more, but he was less violent. His depression worsened. He was just not himself anymore. But I was still determined to show him I could do anything Roderick could have. The day my brother died was the day my new plan was put into action. I would no longer prove that I was better than my brother. I would prove I could _be _him. So I left my father, I introduced him to someone who could help him and I went off to the war. I would become a hero, just like he wanted, and then I would reveal myself as Marigold Shay.

But until then, I would be battling as Roderick Shay.


	2. Recruit

**The TF2 characters are in this chapter, don't worry. It's a lot less slower than the last chapter, I think. **

**I forgot my disclaimer last time, so here it is.  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Team Fortress 2 or any of it's characters. However, I do own Marigold and her family/friends. All other characters belong to Valve.**

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I can remember the last thing I said to my father before he left clearly.

"I am going off to fulfill your dream, father," I said, holding a feeble hand with two string ones. He was on the sofa, staring at me with a weak smile. "I leave today."

"Son, you make me proud," he said, laughing. "Although I can't say that I'm entirely happy with you leaving me all alone here at home." He ran a hand through his hair, just as messy as it was when I was a child.

I shook my head. "You aren't all alone," I said. "You still have Sarah here."

I had an old friend's older sister help me with my father when I was about sixteen. She was a nurse and had no problem with coming over to help my father when he was at his lowest point. She helped him give up drinking and nursed him back to health. For that, I owed her a lot. She moved in with my father not too long after she started helping him to keep him alive and healthy.

"Haha, yes, but the house will still feel so empty without you, Roderick," My father sighed.

I was so used to being called Roderick that I forgot who I really was sometimes. I had never felt better as my brother. "I'm always leaving, though," I told him, finally letting go of his hand and taking a seat next to him on the dull brown sofa. "I'm a mercenary. I'm out of the house all the time."

My father sighed. "But this is different."

I shrugged. "It will be fine. I'll keep in touch, just don't worry about it. Besides, I've already talked to them and I know I'll be great. Just you wait and see, I'll come back the greatest war hero the world's ever known." I grinned at him and rose off of the sofa, brushing myself down. "I am not going to disappear off of the planet. I'll call."

My father nodded. "Have I mentioned how proud I am of you?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, you have." I brushed down my black shirt and walked out of the room. I headed off to my bedroom, shut and locked the door, and say on my bed. In that room was my only place to think about who I really was. I was not Roderick Shay. I was Marigold Shay. Even thought living as Roderick made my life one hundred times better, I knew who I really was on the inside. Sometimes I told myself I was both of us. I was not sure if it was true or not. I was Roderick on the outside, but Marigold on the inside.

I still had so much to prove. But the chance was right in front of me, it was my time to really shine. My eyes glinted with determination and I balled my hands into fists against my blue blanket neatly resting atop of my bed. I could not wait until I was out of the house and onto the battlefield. I had been practicing for this for over twenty years. I was thirty-four when I was joining the war. Until then, I had been a mercenary. My obsession with proving to my father what I could be took over any fears or hesitation I had when it came to killing. All I could see in my enemies was opportunity, and I was glad. I didn't need a petty fear getting in my way.

I stood up and looked into the mirror. When I was a young girl, I would have been horrified at the thought of killing another person. How would I have reacted if I could have seen what I had become? I brushed the thought away, it was stupid. Nothing was going to stop me now. Not my past fears, not my current ones. Not anything. I walked away from the mirror, heading towards my door.

When I walked out, I was walking into a new part of my life.

The one where I officially started the mission I had been training for all my life.

Something about that Administrator woman set me off. I don't know if it was her cold stare or her hostility. Either way, I did not trust her. Her assistant, on the other hand, seemed alright enough. Her name was Miss Pauling, she seemed a little nervous around the Administrator, but she was kind. Although I still did not trust her. I did not trust anyone around there, my job as a mercenary taught me more than enough times that was a potentially fatal mistake. I was not even going to trust my own teammates. Why would I? They could easily turn on me and use my trust against me; I was here for one reason only and I would let nothing stop me.

I received my clothes and changed in private. I did not want anyone to have suspicions of my sex, and the clothes they gave me made it even harder to tell which I was. I was put on the RED Team, the team that would battle the BLU Team. I was given the clothes of the Soldier class, one which had two sashes that crossed across my body bearing grenades. I loosened them a little to hide my form better. The bottom of the uniform was a little shredded, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. The belt that came with the uniform made me nervous, so I loosened that a bit as well. The helmet was a little beat up, but it was just a few scratches, really. I put it on my head, and to my pleasure, it completely covered my hair. The helmet's straps were damaged; the one on the right was torn. The helmet seemed great at first, but now as I stared into the mirror, it made me uneasy. My eyes stood out too much with this uniform. I looked around for something that could possibly help, but I found nothing. I wished the helmet was bigger, that way it could just cover my eyes and make things a lot simpler. Instead, I was glaring into the mirror, staring at my own girlish eyes with frustration. That didn't last for long, I couldn't be wasting time. I looked to one of my sleeves and ripped some of the fabric off, and tied it over my eyes. I was lucky. I could see through the fabric, but it did not work quite the same way the other way around. I made sure to tie it with the best knot I could use and then walked out of the room, the cloth hiding the determination glinting in my eyes.

"You know, you aren't the first of this class to have been here," Miss Pauling told me, hugging a clipboard to her chest.

I looked at her, but she could not see just how uninterested I was without looking into my eyes, but in a way, I liked that. Now people would have trouble knowing how I felt, I could keep myself more mysterious and difficult. The less they knew, the better. "What made him leave?" I asked.

"He was sent to a war elsewhere," Miss Pauling said. "Ah, we're almost there."

I looked forward to the buildings ahead. I figured it was safe to assume the red one held my team inside.

"Today is a ceasefire," Miss Pauling continued. "So you won't have to worry about fighting right away. It will give you time to adjust to your new teammates."

_Fair enough_, I thought. That was the first time that ever happened to me. Usually, I just straight to the fighting, and I had grown used to it. Meeting my team first wasn't a bad idea, either; all I had to do was make sure to not give anything away.

The bases were in Tuefort, a place I would have to start calling my home. It was big enough, and it was split down the middle with a small body of water. From what I could see, there were sewer pipes down there underwater that could possibly lead to different rooms. Above the water was a roofed bridge that could take one from one side to the other, but it looked like it would be a difficult journey. They could easily be shot. I didn't get the chance to observe for long, Miss Pauling was already calling me to get a move on it. As I walked, I continued to look around. There were balcony-like areas on each base; both buildings seemed to be made out of different materials. RED base seemed to be made out of wood. I was nearly at the door when Miss Pauling stopped and sent me a smile. "Are you ready to meet the team, Mister Shay?"

I nodded. "Let's go."

"So, you're the new Soldier, huh?" The boy asked, looking me up and down. He had a Boston accent and he was obviously younger than the other seven mercenaries staring at me, it was even clearer with the clothes he was wearing. A red T-Shirt, dark pants, black running shoes with white stripes coming up from the side. He had a black baseball cap over his head and a black bag on, one strap keeping it on. He had an orange earpiece on the right side and wore dogtags around his neck. It reflected his youth, but it also had a lot more simple look as well . We were all in a sort of living room-esque area, some of them sitting on the sofa, some standing. The boy stood up straight and said, "I'm the Scout." He grinned at me, a bat thrown over his shoulder. "Somebody you better look out for, rookie." Pushing his bat against my helmet, he chuckled a bit.

I could already tell I was not going to get along with him. "I would move that away from me unless you like having a bat snapped off in your ass, son." I spat. Son. It seemed that I had taken a little habit from my father; he was always calling just about everyone "son".

"I guess I wouldn't be the only one with a stick up my ass," Scout muttered, moving his bat away and walking back over to the sofa.

The other mercenaries had similar reactions to my hostility. Just about none.

"I'm the Engineer," a man said to me with a friendlier smile to compliment his Texan drawl. It was easier to tell what he was, he looked like nothing but an engineer. Red shirt under overalls, a yellow helmet over his head. Goggles hid his eyes and there was a tool belt around his waist equipped with all kinds of tools and, for reasons unknown, a teddy bear. "This person here is the Pyro." The Engineer put a hand out to the suited-up person beside him.

They were in a very baggy red fire-retardant suit. It was impossible to tell what sex they were, a mask hid their face and not even an inch of skin showed from behind their clothing. They waved a gloved hand at me. "Hmmph huddah," they said, their body language making them look almost cheerful.

"I am Heavy Weapons Guy," a big man sitting on the sofa said to me. His accent was Russian, and was wearing a large sash coming across his body from the left side covered in ammo. "Don't touch my gun."

"Yeah," Scout barged in, "Big guy gets a little hungry when people touch his gun."

Heavy sent Scout a look, but the boy ignored him.

A masked man in a suit standing beside the sofa with an unlit cigarette between his fingers decided to introduce himself next. "I am ze Spy," he said, and left it at that. His accent was French, and he seemed uninterested in the introduction.

"Ja, and I am ze Medic," a German man said from the other side of the sofa. He was smiling slightly, pushing up his glasses onto his nose. Something about him was a little creepy, but I was sre it was his smile.

"I'm the Demoman," a dark-skinned Scottish added. He was holding a bottle of alcohol and was leaning back in the sofa. "A black Scottish Cyclops." He was, in fact, missing an eye. A black eye-patch covered the area where his right eye should have been and a cap covered his head.

The only persona left was a long-legged man sitting on the sofa, polishing a sniper rifle. He was wearing aviators and a hat over his head; his eyes looking down in the weapon in his hands rather than up at me. "Oi'm the Sniper," he introduced, and, like most of the others, he left it at that. He was Australian.

"So, now you've all met," Miss Pauling said from a far corner, what looked like a nervous smile on her face. "I have to get back to-"

"Why don't you stick around?" Scout interrupted, walking up to the woman and attempting to put an am around her casually.

Miss Pauling slipped away and laughed a bit. "No, I'm sorry, Scout. I can't stay, I have a job to do. Just be sure to show your new teammate to his room." She looked to me, her smile only getting more nervous. "Goodbye."

She left rather quickly. I was not entirely sure why; the team seemed alright so far. Sure, suspicious as hell, but they didn't seem insane.

"Follow me, I'll show ya to your room," Engineer said, walking towards a door.

I didn't hesitate to follow him and we both left the room. He took me down a hall and we got there rather quickly. There were four doors on the left side, three on the right. I counted them as we walked. One, two on the left, one on the right. I would be taking the second door on the right.

"Right here," Engineer said, stopping at the door. "It shouldn't be bad, the Miss Pauling woman came in before you arrived to come straighten it out a bit." Engineer didn't stick around. As soon as he showed me to my room, he walked away and left me alone.

I didn't have a problem with that. My hands closed around the door and I twisted the cold knob, pushing it open and stepped inside. The room was much too dark to see anything. My hand brushed the walls looking for a switch, and eventually, I found one. I flicked the switch and the lights came on, illuminating the once dark room in an instant.

There was a window on the wall farthest from me with a dresser below it. My bed was pushed p against the right wall and there was a closet built next to it. It was painted a dull red, and that was just about it. It was very empty. I walked inside and shut the door behind me, walking over to my bed. I sat down on the mattress, which was a lot harder than I was expecting. The second time my eyes scanned the room, I realized there was no mirror.

_Dammit_, I thought, biting my lip slightly. Mirrors had been my best friend for nineteen years, ever since I took the place of my brother. I could look into them and see which person I saw staring back at me. If it was Roderick, everything was fine. If it was Marigold, everything was wrong. Without my mirror there to keep me safe, I was going to have trouble. _Maybe I can wake up early and get to the bathroom_, I thought. _They're sure to have a mirror there_. I nodded to myself and stood up, pushing off of the uncomfortable bed and heading to the door. Again, my hands closed over the knob's coldness and I pulled it open.

I didn't have trouble finding the bathroom. Unlike the rooms, there was an insignia beside the door that clearly stated what it was. It only took a quick look to ensure myself that there was in fact a mirror on the wall over the sink. I nodded to myself once more and walked back to the living room. Now I was safe, I could keep myself locked up in my brother's life. My mission was finally starting. All I had to do was show my greatness and try my hardest and everything would fall into place. I could finally show my father. Sure, there would be a few obstacles in the way, but nothing I could not get by.

"Done making yourself at home?" Medic asked me, beginning to walk in my direction.

"Yes," I replied. "Why?"

"Come viz me to my office, ve need to get your blood type." He walked by me and began to lead me to a new door.

My blood ran cold. "Wh… What?" My mouth went dry, and I followed him with hesitation. No. This was bad, very bad. I could not let him take my blood. If I did, he could easily look into my DNA and see that I was not a male. "Can't you just look into my file?" I choked.

He shook his head and didn't stop walking. "Nein. "

My fear elevated. I was terrified. This man was threatening my entire life mission. My hands shook, but I continued to walk in silence, my eyes glued to the floor by Medic's feet as we walked. Before I knew it, or, before I could make a plan, we reached Medic's office. He walked inside, but I paused at the door.

Medic turned to look at me with a raised eyebrow. "Vhat, are you scared of a teeny needle?" he asked. "Don't be such a baby. Come."

I swallowed dryly, glad that the cloth over my face hid the terror in my eyes. I walked into the office, my hands in fists so tight that they were turning white. I scanned the room quickly, and it automatically made me so much more nervous. There was blood everywhere, splattered on the floor and on seats, on tables and on walls. There was even blood on the _ceiling_. There was a machine and a fridge near a large seat next to him. The machine had a switch and a tube pointed at the seat, and that just made my nervousness worse.

Medic took the proper tools from a small metal table. "Sit down," he said, gesturing to a seat beside him.

Hesitantly, I shuffled over to it. There was nothing I could do now except be difficult. "I don't like needles," I said.

"It vill be over quickly," He said. "Sit down."

I was about to argue when he shoved me down and strapped me to the seat. "Do not vorry. I am not going to kill you." He sent me a bone chilling grin and flicked the switch on the machine in front of the seat, sending waves of red mist showering down on me.


	3. Operations

The more I thought about the possible failure of my personal life mission, the more my fear and anger increased. I could see the Medic going through medical tools. My breath became quick and shallow as I counted them and named them off in my head.

_Scalpel_, I thought, _Syringes, one two, three syringes. Needle. Bone saw._ There was a hitch in my breath. _Weapons_, I thought. _He lied. I should have known. He's going to kill me._

He laid out the tools, the weapons, on the tray with metallic scrapes and clangs. He glanced in my direction, amusement and boredom both playing in his eyes. "Calm down," he said. "You are breazing like you have never seen a doctor before. Zhe machine vill numb any pain zhat you may or may not feel during zhe operation."

"Operation?" I parroted, disgusted at the obvious horror in my voice. "You did not say anything about an operation."

Medic continued to rummage though the tools. "More or less."

More or less? _More or less_? Did that man think that he could lie to my face and then take advantage of me? Treat me like trash? Before I knew what I was doing, I was on my feet. My anger had skyrocketed. I had never been very proud of my temper. It had always spiraled out of control in the worst times and got me into some sticky situations.

Medic turned to fully face me, scalpel in hand. "Vhat are you doing? Lay back down." His eyes were narrowed behind his glasses and a hand was inching towards the bone saw behind him. I took note of that. I couldn't just charge at him, considering he had an arrangement of weapons at hand. It would be foolish of me to do so.

I took in a single deep breath in an attempt to calm myself. Cool air filled my lungs, but it came rushing out ragged and uneasy. It hadn't helped me contain my awful temper at all. "What are you planning?" I demanded, my fists shaking at my sides. They were so tightly balled that they were beginning to ache.

"Vhat are you… oh, right. Don't vorry, Herr Soldier, I'm just going to put in a heart compatible viz zhe medigun." The bone saw was in his hands by now. At that point, the rest of the words that came out of the doctor's mouth faded into nothingness. All that mattered was that in front of me was an enemy, one armed with weapons. Scenarios flashed in my head. He could easily take me out now, especially since I was the one without a weapon.

A shout from the doctor snapped me out of my mind. I realized that I was nearly standing on the seat that had been between us. "What's a medigun?" I questioned. My voice was heavy with a threat of attack. My tone was hostile. I made it clear to him not to try to pull anything on me.

"Vere you even listening?" Medic said, the annoyance in his voice clear as day. "It is a machine zhat heals any vounds that you vill receive on zhe battlefield," he explained. "Much like zhe one pointed at you currently, as long as you stay under its mist, your vounds vill be attended."

I was incredulous. A machine that fired mist that treated wounds? Preposterous. "Do you take me for a fool?" I growled. I must have sounded feral. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that? You just want to kill me! You're a liar!" My voiced was raised to a shout. I struggled to keep up with the voice I used to disguise my own. My voice may have been gruff for a woman's, but you could never be too careful.

"Calm down." Medic must have felt that he had said those two words a thousand times that day. "Zhe respawn system doesn't vork during ceasefires, and you don't have zhe chip."

I wasn't sure what that madman was raving about and I didn't care. I was on the move in an instant. I jumped back off of the seat and to a small metal try on the floor and threw it at him. He blocked it with an arm and I was already airborne in a mid-tackle. It was either killed or be killed. I didn't care if he was part of the same team as me. An enemy is and enemy; a threat is a threat. But I wasn't thinking. I had not a single weapon on me that I could use against him.

I shouted out of fury when two big hands closed over my legs and yanked me backwards. My helmet was lost in the process, as I was wearing it a little loosely. I hit the side of the seat and was knocked unconscious when my head came in contact with the metal.

By the time I came to, my surgery was complete. The Heavy was sitting beside me in his own seat, giving me a dangerous glare.

"Leetle man is awake now," he said.

I grimaced and put two hands lightly against my exposed chest. It hurt more than any pain I had experienced in a long while. It didn't worry me that Medic could question my sex because of my chest. I was flat as a board and probably less curvy than a pole. "Did you take a blood sample?" I asked.

"Ja, Herr Engineer took it to zhe respawn." He was putting away tools with bare, bloodied hands that made my blood run cold. Had he really done that operation without gloves? I didn't see him wearing any the entire time I was in his office. "I suggest zhat you not bozer him. Vizout zhe respawn system, you von't last long here."

I sat up and got to my feet, ignoring the stare that Heavy was giving me. He probably heard me shouting and came in to stop me from attacking his doctor. I picked up my helmet from the floor without a word and placed it over my head, hiding my buzz cut and assisting the cloth around my eyes to hide my true identity.

"I make no promises," I finally said.

Medic didn't respond.

"It makes no difference," Heavy replied instead. "Engie was given blood half an hour ago."

This time, I made sure to conceal my worry. Instead, I just left Medic's office.

* * *

_I hope I'm doing OK with keeping canon characters IC. I've never written a TF2 fanfiction before and I have trouble writing the mercs. They have such great personalities but I struggle so much to get them down and it frustrates me. I would really appreciate it if anyone would give pointers on them and their dialogue. It would help a whole lot!_


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